


"Close Contact"

by AloryShannon



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: "Tales Of" Kink Meme Fill, F/M, SPOILER ALERT!, Tales of Kink Meme, not-quite-smut, sort-of almost dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:04:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AloryShannon/pseuds/AloryShannon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Tales of Kink Meme prompt: "Anise/Guy; Guy tries to comfort Anise after (SPOILER!) Ion's death. (anon's choice whether he succeeds or fail, but I would rather he fail and be all sadface, because I vaguely remember him saying "I can't, so you do it instead" if you talk to him after everyone splits up to find her.)"</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Close Contact"

**Author's Note:**

> While Older!Anise/Guy IS my ultimate "Tales Of" OTP, I _do_ really only like them as a couple when she's older. And yet, for some reason I couldn't resist writing this piece--the prompt was just too perfect, and it was the ONLY prompt on any of the many Tales Of Kink Memes for these two characters that I could find.

Somehow he isn’t at all surprised to be the one who finally finds her, or that she’s hidden herself in one of the Cathedral’s many tiny, private libraries.  It’s where they’d found Ion on more than a few occasions, and Guy suspects the late Fon Master and his Fon Master Guardian had spent many hours together in that room, reading or talking or just being quietly together and sharing the same dry, musty air.

Anise is standing with her back facing the door, shoulders hunched, most of her weight on the half-buried table at the center of the room--whoever had used it last hadn’t been as fastidious about putting away their reading materials as Ion--and she stiffens as the door creaks open and she hears the soft clip of his boots on the flagstones.

For a long moment, neither moves, then Guy takes several cautious steps forward, closing the door behind him.  “Anise…” he starts, and even though he’d been thinking about it the whole time he’s been searching for her, he’s still not quite certain what to say.  _It’s okay_ sounds so hollow _, I know how you feel_ far too presumptuous even if it’s better than true, and anything else at all fitting just seems too cliché and impersonal for that delicate moment.  Even a simple _I’m sorry_ is only weak, empty words--her grief is still too fresh, the wound too new, and like any injury, it has to be allowed to bleed a little first or it will just fester into something even more painful.

Actions do speak louder than words, he knows this, and he also knows that what Anise really needs is physical, not verbal, comfort.  The very idea makes him break out in a cold sweat, but the quiver in her shoulders, the fact that she hasn’t even tried to explain or defend herself hardens something deep in his chest that feels a lot like resolve.  He takes those last few steps to close the distance between them, and though his hand trembles as he reaches out to her, its touch on the top of her head is steady and gentle nonetheless.

“Everyone’s been really worried about you.  We’ve been looking everywhere,” he says with a faint smile, despite the fact that her back is still turned and he knows she can’t see it.  “I’m glad I found you.”

By all rights he should have expected it really, should’ve seen it coming a mile away.  But he didn’t, and she moves too fast for him to even attempt to dodge as she turns and hurls herself at him, skinny little arms wrapping tightly, desperately around his waist as she buries her face against his shirt.  He can feel hot tears seeping through the material, but even the knowledge that she’s crying, that she _needs this,_ can’t stop him from flailing wildly and trying to escape.  The attempt is too hasty, however, too desperate, and somehow he gets his feet tangled up together; despite the frantic windmilling of his arms, gravity has taken over and he falls backwards, landing hard on his backside, ninety-odd pounds of needy, desolate prepubescent girl sprawled on top of him.

Guy freezes instantly, of course, almost literally petrified, every muscle rigid as stone; movement is impossible, unthinkable, and he can only hope that Anise will get off of him and _soon._

She doesn’t move for the space of several heartbeats, blearily recovering her bearings after the unexpected tumble, but finally she shifts a little to get her feet more or less under her.  Somehow this ends with her straddling him, and he whimpers as she pauses again, staring down at the sight of her hands pressed flat against his midriff, feeling the smooth, firm curve of taut muscles through his shirt.  Guy has started to shake now, though he’s still too frozen with terror to really move, much less get out from under her; Anise briefly glances up at his face, her own expression closed, eyes so dull they almost appear unseeing, and starts to climb off him.

The curious feeling of friction, the brush of his clothed thigh between her legs as she moves sideways brings her to another stop, and for a few seconds neither moves, both hardly even daring to breathe.  Then, slowly, she eases back down onto his lap, settling squarely on his hips, pressing her hands to his stomach once again, idly tracing the muscled indent running directly down its middle; that breath she’d held eases out of her as she gives a cautious, tentative little roll of her hips.  For Guy, that same breath leaves in a rush, half of a surprised gasp, his eyes going even wider, his gloved fingers digging into the surprisingly plush carpet that covers most of the room’s stone floor.

This is wrong, they both know it, but Guy is still frozen in place, too stunned and somehow unable to find it in himself to move away, and Anise is hurting so much that _this,_ the feel of a hard, warm body pressed against her own, the intense closeness to someone she trusts implicitly, the sudden lash of unprecedented physical pleasure, the way her attention seems to narrow down to only this moment, the simple action of moving against him, moving over him, is more than she can resist.  She doesn’t care if he hates her for it or the others find out or she regrets it later; no matter how badly it turns out, it can only ever be second on her list of regrets.

His shaking worsens with each passing second, but that only encourages her to move faster, to rub herself against him harder, faster, her hands fisting in the material of his shirt so tightly that two of the buttons pop off and go skittering across the floor; Guy bites his lip hard to hold back a groan, closing his eyes tightly and turning his face away, mortified and more than partly convinced that this is some terrible nightmare and just wanting it all to _end_ even as his hips give a hard upwards jerk against her.  She gasps, fingers digging into his sides as she grinds against him, leaving them both panting and desperate and more than a little out of control.

Only when she starts fumbling with the tie on his belt does he finally recover his wits and regain the motor skills necessary to put an abrupt end to it all, shoving her off onto the floor and scuttling backwards until his back hits the nearest wall.

Even with the distance now separating them, he can’t seem to stop shaking.  He can feel the heat flooding his face as he fully realises what’s just happened, and worse what had _almost_ happened, shame and self-loathing warring for emotional dominance and ultimately deciding to share him equally.  Especially since a part of him--a very small part that doesn’t care about responsibility or social norms or his childhood trauma or _doing the right thing_ \--hadn’t wanted to stop her.

Judging by the look of things, another, rather _larger_ part of him hadn’t either.

Drawing his legs up towards his chest a bit in an effort to hide this fact, he risks a brief glance up and over at her; she’s sitting precisely where she’d landed when he’d dumped her off his lap, head bowed enough that her hair hides her face completely from his view.

“…A-Anise…” he croaks, swallows hard once, twice, then tries again though his mouth is no less dry.  “Anise…I…I didn’t mean…”

Before he can figure out just what exactly it is he’s trying to say, she lurches to her feet, stumbling for a step or two before hurtling towards the door.  Guy catches the brief sparkle of tears on her face as she passes him, but he’s powerless to reach out and stop her; the very idea sets him shaking anew.

Instead, he closes his eyes, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall, feeling his teeth rattle as the door slams to; after a brief struggle with his conscience, his hand finds its way out of its glove and into his pants, and he clenches his jaw and grits his teeth, hating himself a little more every second but unable to stop--no one is getting hurt, he rationalises, a victimless crime, which is vastly better than allowing Anise to continue would have been, and Yulia save him he’s still _imagining_ that he hadn’t stopped her and he’s never come so fast or so hard or so _much_ and he is definitely, definitely going to be sick.

Fortunately there’s a washroom nearby, and so after making his ablutions, he finds his way back up and then down all the various ramps and staircases, his legs still slightly unsteady beneath him, his expression distant and preoccupied as he takes up the search anew, shaking his head negatively but carefully avoiding eye contact when he happens to run into Tear and then Jade in the long, winding hallways, both also still searching for Anise.

He finds her in the Chapel this time, but he doesn’t do more than open the door a crack to peek inside, doesn’t go in, doesn’t approach her, knowing that he can’t try again, not now, possibly not ever, not after what just happened.  Closing the door with a silent sigh, he turns away.  He’ll make this up to her somehow, someday, he swears to himself, but for now he is resigned to waiting for Luke.

It’s all up to him now, to do what Guy can’t.


End file.
